Indeed, Madame de C. sank down on a couch, took my hand, and burst into tears. Amid her sobs she ejaculated, “Georges--my dear boy--Georges--my son.” I felt that I could not rise to the occasion. “Come, Captain,” I said to myself, “a tear; squeeze forth a tear. You can not get out of this becomingly without a tear, or it will be, ‘My son-in-law, it is all off.’” When this stupid phrase, derived from I do not know where--a Palais Royal farce, I believe--had once got into my head, it was impossible for me to get rid of it, and I felt bursts of wild merriment welling up to my lips. “Calm yourself, Madame; calm yourself.” “How can I, Georges? Forgive me, my dear boy.” “Can you doubt me, Madame?” I felt that “Madame” was somewhat cold, but I was afraid of making Madame de C. seem old by calling her “mother.” I knew her to be somewhat of a coquette. “Oh, I do not doubt your affection; go, my dear boy, go and make her happy; yes, oh, yes! Fear nothing on my account; I am strong.” Nothing is more unbearable than emotion when one does not share it. I murmured “Mother!” feeling that after all she must appreciate such an outburst; then approaching, I kissed her, and made a face in spite of myself--such a salt and disagreeable flavor had been imparted to my mother-in-law’s countenance by the tears she had shed. CHAPTER XII. THE HONEYMOON It had been decided that we should pass the first week of our honeymoon at Madame de C.’s chateau. A little suite of apartments had been fitted up for us, upholstered in blue chintz, delightfully cool-looking. The term “cool-looking” may pass here for a kind of bad joke, for in reality it was somewhat damp in this little paradise, owing to the freshly repaired walls. A room had been specially reserved for me, and it was thither that, after heartily kissing my dear mother-in-law, I flew up the stairs four at a time. On an armchair, drawn in front of the fire, was spread out my maroon velvet dressing-gown and close beside it were my slippers. I could not resist, and I frantically pulled off my boots. Be that as it may, my heart was full of love, and a thousand thoughts were whirling through my head in frightful confusion. I made an effort, and reflected for a moment on my position: “Captain,” said I to myself, “the approaching moment is a solemn one. On the manner in which you cross the threshold of married life depends your future happiness. It is not a small matter to lay the first stone of an edifice. A husband’s first kiss”--I felt a thrill run down my back--“a husband’s first kiss is like the fundamental axiom that serves as a basis for a whole volume. Be prudent, Captain. She is there beyond that wall, the fair young bride, who is awaiting you; her ear on the alert, her neck outstretched, she is listening to each of your movements. At every creak of the boards she shivers, dear little soul.”